Hare-y Circumstances (Lock and SomethingWithinReason)

[VioletsForRoses]

There was a nasty shortage of rabbits. This would not have been too big a problem for the people of Westnorton were the rabbits not all the property of Sir Henery Sackbutt who was the most greedy, grasping and bad tempered Lord of the Manor in living memory. Stealing His Lordship's property was a hanging offence and it was lucky that there was no proof against any of the townspeople but, nonetheless, they were all sick of the accusing finger being pointed in their direction.

Even Bogdown, the arthritic, old burglar who ran gangs of thieving street urchins in the city of Eastnorton several miles away was weary, not only of being blamed for the great bunny vanishing act but also because there was extra security around the Lord's warren so he was miffed that he hadn't had any rabbits to sell on the black market for weeks. He was, therefore, putting feelers out for information and was sitting in the The Fletcher's Head Tavern buying Your Character a third jar of the strongest cider which had green grassy and ferny particles floating in it.

((I hope this is alright! I wasn't entirely sure how detailed we are allowed to be in this section?))

Serlene had never gained an appreciation for the taste of rabbit. Not in stews, not in pies, not jerkied or fried; regardless of the presentation, the creature always came across as gamey and unappetizing. But with a dwindling amount of animals in the surrounding woods and an outrageous tax on (legally) imported meats, rabbits were one of few resilient creatures still present in the area- so the tracker couldn't begrudge anyone who yearned for that stringy flesh.

The scarcity of the furry little nuisances was proving to be a slow building travesty, especially with the winter season rapidly approaching. As the temperature dropped, so did the Lord of the Manor's sanity it seemed. With each passing day, more and more people were accused of pilfering rabbits or conspiring to do so. Every tracker and trapper had been brought in for interrogation at least once, or in Serlene's case twice as she was less than cooperative during the first visit. But with no bunny blood on their hands, they were released under close scrutiny - their shops and homes ransacked and upturned.  Many had left for the city, others had simply vanished..but Serlene had stayed behind. She wasn't entirely sure why, either.

"If I had any, you know I'd be good for 'em Bog, but I've got nothing," She sighed, clasping a gloved hand around the jar of cloudy cider, brushing a few strands of her unkempt curls from her face. "And I'm not about to risk my neck tracking closer to the Manor than I already have. They've singed me twice already" Her gloved hand flickered, the leather stretching over long fingers, and in doing so rose enough over her palm that the ridges of blistered burns could be seen, " Third time I think he'll just cut it off and use it to pick his teeth," She smirked irritably, leaning back against the wall before taking a long swig of cider. "Pompous arse..."

[Dale]

((Mm fantastic, thanks. I think this section just excludes sex ))


The six foot street entertainer and painter sat an appropriate distance two tables away from Artie Bogdown and Serlene and sipped the least intoxicating liquid the tavern passed across the counter. Whilst his outward appearance was that of a human it was simply a convenient façade for a dragon who could alter his shape from creature to human male at will and he didn't normally drink since shape-shifting, flying, painting art or juggling didn't mix with the mind-fuddling effects of alcohol. There had been very rare occasions that late night revellers staggering home caught a brief glimpse of his winged form in silhouette against the moon but the tales were dismissed as alcohol induced delusions. He wondered if Serlene knew his secret, but if she had even a suspicion she kept it to herself and he didn't dare to reveal what he was in case it drove her away. The dark auburn unruly wavy hair fell into his face as Lochinvar shoved up the sleeve of his white linen shirt away from the puddle of spilled beer on the table and kept his his ears tuned to listening to Serlene and Bogdown. If anyone could get information from Bogdown it would be Serlene.

Artie Bogdown shifted from side to side feeling uncomfortable on the hard seat and considered the tracker's words and the blistered hand under the glove. She knew nothing he decided. “Errrrgh.” He cleared his throat noisily. “Could be there really is a dragon.” He suggested and hauling his distorted frame up drained his beer off. “I 'as the little perishers to feed.” It served as explanation for leaving and why he was keen that the situation didn't get worse. If there was a shortage of rich pockets to be picked he and his urchins were sunk. “M'am.” The old criminal shuffled off and rolled out onto the street.

Lochinvar chided himself as he flinched as Bogdown mentioned the word 'dragon' and stared at the tankard in front of him as he waited for the man to leave. Watching out of the window he saw Bogdown weave down the street then took his jar to the table to speak to Serlene. He sat alongside her and looked despondently down into his lap with slightly glazed blue-green eyes. “It's not him and his little crew, back to square one.” He spoke in a quiet baritone. Worse than square one if there was no work for Serlene she had no reason to stick around. His head came up as he decided what to do. “I'll have to sneak about closer to the Warrens. We need evidence, catch them in the act. Have you eaten yet?”